the odd miracle

The luxury is in the little things, little reliefs from the survival instinct.
From the cooked up problems that need solving 24/7, and then some.
Looking more and more like there is no heaven on earth,
no peace and good will,
no faith hope or charity;
or only just enough to keep things afloat.

Its a spooky atmosphere
wandering looking for the sweetness
behind the gothic exterior.

Counting time that's left to live.
Not really counting, more like giving yourself permission for immersion in the odd miracle that may emerge.

god bless america

The story of the arrogant land markers in the land that became America
from the Arctic to Antarctica.
Actually an old story from Ye Old Countries.

The parking meter mentality,
making mendacity pay from way before Henry Ford.
Tolls and taxes enacted by those that got the backup
and get a say on how the system is analyzed and delivered to the little people without leverage.

Gunpowder believers who learned to demonize them that got something they want to have and smart enough to put the ideal situation into laws by paying the specialists with Machiavellian gifts.

There's always a little give in the system that makes for some drama that excites headline writers.
Jazzes things up for all involved.

So there was a man from over the ocean,
Whom some said was an alien.
But raised in love, when he pulled into their harbour, they opened up their welcoming mat;
didn't see coming towards their heads, the baseball bat.
The ones who eventually became conscious got an earful of the singing of
god bless america.

Love, Essentially

Everybody's got their Sodom and Gomorrah
Even the up righteous without a nightlife, and as boring as a defence secretary like Robert MacNamara
Who might go look but stand well back from the sprays of Vietnam and Niagara
Only difference between this that and the other is the printing on the ticket.


The economies making sounds that will shake you.
The sun feels closer, all the better to bake you.
Now you can feel empathy for them who were out of the blue slew
for no apparent reason other than hatred.

But the clever are carrying what looks like cleavers.
They have no training but they have the aptitude.
Needless to say they're eager
to apply their education and platitudes.
The benefits, they believe, are not meager,
when compared to those who have to work for a living and where there's no perks included.


Suicide bombings take minds that have had their share of stompings.
After years of grinding and hearing the greedy chompings.
After so many moons and so many swampings.
You'd think we'd catch on and not buy it.



Switch scenes move hips
To where they may let fly the chips
Get it while it's crisp
Just be careful if you try to deny it.


But the clowns are as busy as beavers
Amusing those who get their kicks acting rude
Amusing those with the starved for attention fever
And the permanently damaged amplitude
Better than those near professional grievers
Snacking on salted gratitude.


Get your hands on a compass or GPS
If you can read it and don't have to guess
exactly where it is that you have to commit most of your of transgresses.
But for peace of mind best to keep it a secret or have some philosophy prof reinterpret it.

Penal colonies alongside condominium complexes.
Its hard tell the differences
or calculate the distances.
Meanwhile the guys with the biggest axes are talking about the assets and telling how to split it.

The world has never been the same since they incorporated the cheaters.
Legal layers with selected litmus tests.
You can't detect the chill of their presence because they've turned up the heaters.
Raising the gates of reasons as they listen to the appeals and bequests.
But every innuendo in their education is an indication of their condemning them that chose not to lay down and purr.
And there's three other directions to turn to after you've gone west.


Hearing the drumming out in the sun.
Walking aware of the not too far away armed camps, reading the sonnets of John Donne.
Hoping not having to meet someone you have to shun.
On the other hand so what if you don't got the guts.

What won't wash no longer a hindrance
When you have friends in high places and the only rule, once a month with the wolves, participate in the full-moon dances,
Eyes full of romances.
It's one way to get out of a rut.


Down at the corner is where the action is.
Everybody looks lost but there's no lack of enthusiasm
For something that won't end up a big fizz.
And all your friends breaking out in spasms.
The fear taking effect, scratching your head like you're taking a quiz.
But be prepared to duck, here comes another low flying iconoclasm.


The scandals have hot handles
After you drop them you'll be going around in circles
Reacting to the bursting of bubbles.
Gonna take a lot of straight whiskey slugs
To numb the sticking out like a sore thumb nuance.
Gonna take a lot of hugs
And some knowledge of high finance.

The ships sail into the bay
Carrying every kind of cargo.
Let your imagination take sway,
See how far your fantasies can go.
Time to separate the blue from the gray
Time to turn pro

The dealer's flipping cards.
Watching closely are the guards.
From Broadway they send their regards.
Best place bets that won't leave you naked.

Don't ask questions that have an automatic chorus,
Gonna take a rough trade thesaurus,
Try and find a quote from Horace
That won't leave your tongue tied and your fingers forked.

Whatever it is that's happening
Can be figured to some satisfaction eventually.
It's the evolution of the geeks seeking to escape messy mishapenings.
Working on it exponentially,
Knowing it will all come to nothing,
What happens when you're buried in love , essentially.

bring in the oxygen

Hate and fear alternating in eyes as the most predominant emotion,
fear of losing what control they have .
People who have accepted long corridor walks with heads down as a prerequisite for getting ahead,
for getting the opportunity to jump for bites of the low hanging fruit on the local lottery tree.

Reflecting on where it has got them , using logic plugged into emotional outlets previously used by alchemists who equated god with gold.
Gonna take a lot of lip service to the doctrine to get the lifestyle that they show on TV ads for investment consulting, pharmaceuticals , cars and fast food outlets.
Etcetera.
Trying to model the actors who have studied how to be happy when the set is ready.
Focused on the script transported to their head.

Feel that smothering feeling , hear humility knocking
Someone bring in the oxygen.

Ode to a Bluejay Blues

Got the blue blue christmasy feeling.
My inner Elvis picking and choosing.
My senses half out in the heavens,
other half wondering when its going to each its ceiling,
and what's the origin of the sinking of my lucky number seven.

There's a blue jay in the snow playing in its infrastructure,
one of creation's advertisements.
Its moments like electricity turned on in its spinal column.
Biochemists and zoologists too far from the action to configure.
too tied down with detail to see the about-to-happen accident,
getting sloppy and solemn.

Cups of coffee giving diminishing hit potential.
Thinking about Buddy Holly's line about love is not-fade-away,
love is not just tangential,
and you could probably find a hint of truth in it if you conducted a survey.

You can take a plane and go soak up the sun at a resort.
Warming, for a while
pleasant memories in the making.
Praying they'll only slowly come undone, trying to forget about the final report.
hoping you guessed right about the guile
hoping you can depend on the braking.

The blue jay unaware of the guesswork that goes into being human.
The groans of my species just common characteristics you'd find in any decent field identification book worth being written.
The anxiety, the lust, the plans.
People walking like they're braced for being bitten.
Anguish hanging around like a hangover.

The dead preserved in cinematic celluloid and the even vaguer material between the ears.
If the anticipation doesn't get you the body blows will.
All that will be lingering is the refrains of forgotten loves and lovers.
And the mixing of the music with tears
til all you feel is a chill.

Somewhere in the future.
For now give me a moment in the snow with the mind of the blue jay flying low under the rainbow,
With my mind suspended from the the allure of the celestial architecture:

Raptured by the night
diffused by the day
Some unseen theorem giving it all motion,
clusters of stars thick with the light
of all the universe in play,
Mine and the bluejay's dna digging in, everybody doing the quantum locomotion.

Incense without smoke
fire without flames
high as an oak
that's been let alone to grow untame.

Outside trees and snow and sky.
A wild tang to taste.
Vacating the wastelands via the visceral.
A mild May moment for the brain to supply.
A moment you can trace
back to the first taste at an unidentified oracle.

On the edge between life and time
riding a raw nerve
blinded by the sublime
missing a curve.

At midnight, a turning point,
as the earth spins and the constellations drink me.
Like an emotion with the pull of electro-magnetism
until the wild mint
in the morning when the jays can be seen
flying thru the filters of absolutism.

Absolute life and absolute death unfettered,
feeding in fields without theories or graffiti,
with and without the will to be bewildered
and ready finally to give peace a treaty.

States of being or mind or maybe just flashes from a panoptic lookoff.
Right and wrong in the bones,
Waving to you.
Focusing on what part of the over load you've got to doff.
In with the authentic , out with the clones.
Blue jays just don't do well in a zoo.

Melancholy in the belly,
going down deep into mental death
bending apocalyptically,
half remembering toasts and oaths.

The screen lined with Ends
Both the possible and the improbable.
Knee deep in nitty gritty elements that feed the organic.
Wait 15 minutes to see what transcends
To see what's climbable
To see what's just another to-do tick off and what's titanic.

three hundred and sixty degrees

Ever since the the reincarnation up in the mountains the fear's been diluted
Maybe it wasn't a reincarnation, maybe negativity just had enough for one night
Maybe the mountains just moved geologically the way mountains do when you woo them with whatever it is that opens your eyes in the morning.
Whatever lets you calm down an infant giving a vision of stillness with sounds similar to the universe idling.


Ever since the experience of touch , never wanting to let it go, monitoring for more of the same, not stopping.
Maybe it was just some sleepy cells without an encoded address ,
being bitten by something pure for a split second.


Without peace there is war , conflicts of sickos with agendas blowing smoke to try and make the
meat grinder on the ground look sexy and serendipitous .
Proof of unruly gods and the barbarian way.

Without love
the markets would lose their motivation and down anti-pychotics and other chemicals that make it easy to learn to love the weapons
being passed from head to hands.
Existence kept together with an elastic band.

A story without a state is a story that has escaped,
flipping the eyes around three hundred and sixty degrees.

Silent Rose

Silent Rose

She's in a bubble she wants to break out of.
Intuitively she knows it's inevitable.
Out into the wild fragrances that get wilder the longer she waits.
Where her eyes are no longer expectant,
as they appear to be almost every minute of every day.

She's waiting for a signal , a communication like smoke signals but without the smoke.
It comes in a text message and she's bewildered for a moment because it's in English,
a language she was warned to stay away from unless she was willing to divide and conquer on a continuing basis.

She has a realization that she's a wild rose inside a raindrop,
falling through the atmosphere into wild rose country, passes through the clouds,
breathing in fragrances of things that live and are enabled to love.

A bit stage struck but she's prepared for the rapture that has been predicted
by the cognizance she could feel from before she could crawl,
predicted by the arrangement of the colors whenever she would awaken from dreams that are never forgotten.

The Getting Cozy Desire

Winter is here.
The air gives a hit , a bite like a lover who makes no prejudement and is fudge for a few moments.
And gives all there is to give, going crazy for love,
a dangerous move, so requiring caution.
Cold and tasty like an ice cream that can give you brain freeze.

Quieter than the summer that can smother you.
The winter with the bite of a snake penetrates the memory gnome backed up in the brain.
The accumulated communications of past possibilities that have bubbled up and then iced up
so you can see like a kind of captured crystal while walking across a frozen lake, hearing it cracking.

No stillness like it except the stillness of death.
And the winter's always got a wind coming up, and spring underneath it.

Winter is the season of love just like all the others .
The getting cozy desire got a hold on you.

Getting a Little Rash

Pathological ideologues coming over the hinterlands,
A glint in their eye and a hold-up in their hand.
What's in their heads is as clear as when aliens land
Coming pumped to get plump without a plan.

The specifics don't really matter til the cameras come
And the editors pick and paste what gets mumbled and what stays mum.
Creating a perfect picture for patsies who only hear the drums.
Getting them self-fomenting with mind chewing gum.

Instincts on hold.
Minds enslaved , consciousness cajoled.
For many, only a whisper, and then fingers feeling the fool's gold.
A realization you've been sold.

A realization its not cool to cruise and crash
Sometimes the game calls for getting a little rash.

No Sense Yelling at the Television

The Peace Summit will come when the stars skip a twinkle in your eye,
when there's an inkling that we're sinking never to be unsunk or seen again.

All on something.
The high that comes with a little patch of power on the political farm.
See the media treat it seriously as a sincere effort to sooth the barbarity of the unwashed hung out to dry semi-civilized by those who have accumulated the most trivia at the finest universities.
Sincere effort accentuated.
See them conveniently forgetting history.

See and hear the smear jobs of professional hazers with access to editing suites.
They started out interpreting the adult rules for the other kids, and now with a highly developed sense of censorship, they get to be part of the team following leaders who pick who loses.
Using the most creative brainstormers, terrifying populations to shape up and expect anytime now the dawning of violence.

It's Condoleezza's party , she'll get creepy if she wants to.
Still trying to learn the party trick that'll pass snuff and bestow her legacy with awe that will up the ante of her speaking engagements.
Like Henry the K.
Now there's a brain we oughta freeze and bring out when Nostradamus says the Aliens will attack.

The media dumber than a pet rock but essential for the process of the brain wash.
Forget about trying to connect the dots.
And since it doesn't have the kind of circuitry that's capable of listening,
there's no sense yelling at the television.

Upshot

Each gunpowder upgrade demonstrating a new frame of civilization to a new generation trying to rub the weary eyes of what lays before them.
Out on the streets and in enclosures with a lot of gadgets to distract them.
Discarding the posture of sheep and frightening those who've got something that requires a lot of insurance coverage and could lose if they snooze or get soft and hesitate in sending out the goons who just follow their herd mentality with the soundtrack of their teen years hits in their heads.

The imaginations of policy holders conjuring up more madness than all the Marxist-Leninists and Maoists on a mean Monday morning just before the big meeting with the my way or we'll hang you out to dry way.

All the characteristics that can be picked up on animal documentaries you'll see it in their eyes,
but having thumbs do a lot more damage than the beasts that never learned to build intercontinental ballistic missiles and meditate on the morning of designated destruction and then sit down in front of a monitor and calculate the profits and losses in the rows and columns of planned desolation,
calculating in the luxury of hegemony.

Their hearts holding the human hope of getting the two thumbs up from gods with name tags they've managed to print off and get the velcro on,
to get rid of that lonely feeling that simultaneously evolves------ it's even money on whether a mental evolution will solve all the stuff that's so gruesome and getting gruesomer.

Speculating on a vision of people sitting around the fire telling tales of a petered out apocalypse in post paradise with a chicken in every pot.
That's the upshot.

Phoenix Queen

The phoenix queen needs a a massage and a heart- to-heart,
otherwise she's all ready for revolution.
On her terms .

In her garden there's a swinging gate.
Going through it is the best part of her day.
Into where the imagination is loose and fancy is for free.

The wonderland girl grown up.
She has all the light she needs , now she's into how to make it stay, making it into a fixture for when her eyes can't see.
A joke will evoke the lover in her, jokes of the brave.

The head gear accentuates her brain.
She has some alien tendencies and characteristics that may be a little weird but otherwise wonderful and all human.
Of course she may be picked up by national security scurrilous types
and taken away to a dungeon but her bonnet stays on her head even when all she can see is ashes and functionaries poking at the shadows in the adjoining alley ways.

Healing

Let the healing begin
Let the harmony find a setting that leaves no separation between the auxiliary people and the regulators of the axis upon which we spin and have come to depend.

Let childhood be discoveries deeper into the light after you pass the litmus test at the end of the tunnel,
rolling with the resonance through the rapids down Ogre's canyon.

Patterns on the wall , patterns in the seasons.
Childhood desire filled with peppermint breaths and time spent finding someone to tickle feet and fancy.
Can't hold back these feeling, can't mentalize it or isolate it to an island where the highway is jammed with everyone trying to catch the last ferry to the mainland.

Skin needs closeness to give it some integration with the echo in the head.
Needs to brush up against promises being processed through the invisible but tactile prism of love in a promised land ---where premises have not yet been presented and feelings are jetted to the surface and go through a transformation and amendments begin healing the aches sealed in grains of personal histories.

gates of heaven

The chimes are cuting in right on time.
Wanting to believe in a god and wanting at the same time to be freed from sucking up to salvation.
Let salvation take its turn and be struck blind by the sight of a free person.

Its geting more necesarry to dispel with the cynicism,
getting more necessary to call the bluff of lawmakers and the peace keepers who wear badges.
Ask them direct what they got against revolution.

Against situations where mothers go against convention and trickle down their milk.
Trying to get them to stop thinking for a split second
and pass some legislation that 'll get them past the gates of heaven.

Negotiating With the Lambs

fearing a life under the whip
fearing going hungry even when it's sunny
even when the harvests are bountiful and piled up in the barn.

A fear of many
fear of gluttons who push the buttons
to leverage their stock options and pamper platitudes that got picked up in the classroom.


So now staring down the Apocolypse
we bought it so we got to consume it
Remodelling the thoughts that move the fingers that do the digging and the capping of any and all liquids.
See the faces going ga ga over the gushes
And why not, we all need rushes.


Especially the defenseless using hunting rifles and sometimes throwing rocks against Hellfire
propulsions.
The defenseless using common courtesy while the legal departments shoot off bursts of logic about as original as the mind of a lion that won't go limp when negotiating with the lambs.

The World Needs Nurses.

This is a road trip with your usual genre elements
Including the finale with a car chase and a bitter sweet fender bending,
Including the love scene in the middle of the disaster,
The talking empire blues in the background,
feeling dreams drifting away from the surveillance machine.

Sitting with her nurse feet feeling relief in a stream outside a sealed off fortresss , closing eyes and recoloring consciousness.
The attacks of paranoia made manifest in the hospital forgotten for the moment ,
For a moment physiology and anatomy not needy; taking it easy displacing the thoughts of diseases she'd try to heal and deal with during her 12 hour shifts.

If they bomb Iran the nurses will be run off their feet,
the doctors groans will compete with the disembowled
and the mad memes will come home to roost.
And that night Dick Cheney will once again grind his teeth.

If they bomb Iran it'll be hard to get a day to just veg.
Oil will go up.
The nuts will get nuttier.
And that night Dick Cheney will once again count his little white lies to get to sleep.

Sitting and letting the sun scan the landscapes.
Reflections off the water blinding her to the dealing with death machinery on her ward.

Auguries of Angst

1
Lying on the beach in the sand
Looking up at the sky surrounded by high rise dog hot stands
Fingers on infinity trying to hold it back
But infinity seems slippery and slack

2
Seagulls drop clams on rocks, dive for fish
Re-cycling PCBs, and I get one last wish
On the beach seeing the sparrows flying into caves focused and swift
I finally catch the drift.

3
people picking thru dumpsters for food
In the air someone's swinging dangerous moods
Long lines and longings for a long vacation
Holding back the time space continuum for that feeling of elation.

4
Each time a brain wave turned into a marketing strategy
Reduces insights to farce filled tragedy
A child run roughshod thru the classroom
Debases the business of the womb

5
Each bulldozed olive orchard
Turns the screw of the torture
Each tender touch that's attempted
Turns that moment to time in a temple suspended

6
Every bullet that's manufactured
Leaves a little love fractured
The chimes of laughter of a child
Would wake up wisdom if compiled

7
A straight talking human without the manners of the mansion
Is like a knife flashed in the faces of the pirates of expansion
The supply guy who orders in the the cluster bombs
Will never see the sweet side of the psalms


8
The credit card pushers who target pockets of poverty
Will be awakened in the night by a knock on their property.
The fearful who collect photographs of lynching trees
Have strung themselves up by degrees
The bullys who bite at your back
Will one day taste the counter attack


9
A polar bear drifting on a melting ice floe
Is a 911 call saying there's nothing more to blow
Protecting the millionaire's market instead of protecting a million species
Is the mating call of an absurdity struck disease
Investors in depleted plutonium tipped weapons
Are digging us deeper into suicidal delusions

10
Clean up the mess
And the rats will leave their nests
Wash off the illusions of the sword
And making love will be restored

11
Each telecasted image of fathers picking up pieces of flesh
Smothers an infant at the breast
Each innocent act of a tree hugger
Clear cuts another ominous act of an
eco mugger
12

Both the the red carpet glitter and the threadbare tatters
Eventually become landfill matters
Truths that are relative
Are just tricks that have had a hell made if it

13
Call it , What goes around... or call it Karma
You can't live without hurting or without the sorrowful side of the drama
Whether it's a hug of love or an F16s hollowing out your apartment
What matters is what's in the breath department.


14
The sorrow and the sunny always leave shadows
Gotta navigate thru the nicks and the narrows
Broken hearts and broken bones
Can only be healed with all the compassion you own

15
Questions dwell in every child's eye
And deep in the well of each person's phantasmal belly comes a reply
Picked up by awakened from woe people without a prayer
Lullabying during a lull from cares.

16
Tears and stars seem to be eternally transmitting
The secrets of hearts and the universe emitting
Moments committed to memory
Are spoken out about and made ambulatory.

17
The sounds you can hear when everything's unplugged
Is the organic world coming out of its pandemic panic undruged
Grinding the beautiful into the grim
Sets the stage for the last note of the last violi.

18
Those freezing for lack of fuel
Gives the finger to infinity's jewel
The soldiers armed with F16s and IEDs
Are like strikes of lighting at the seas.

19
A moment of pleasure to the many
Is worth more than buried treasure to the greedy minority, funny.
A miniscule tic of the ubiquitous
Can shake out the shtick and fan the affectuous.

20
The mockers with deep pockets
Shall feel the shock of sticking their fingers into too many sockets.
That pure feeling that shows up in the eyes
Is due to a thinking process that tries

21
He who kicks at the call of the wild
His own self shall beguile
Cheating the child of its treasures
Will get loneliness meted out for your leisure
Thrilling to the cry of the newborn
Gets you a lifetime listening to Gabriel's horn.

22
The imaginations of children and adult understandings
Takes the the crash out of the landing.
The professional questioner settling for pat answers
Is spreading mass confusion like a cancer.


23
Bowing to the the BS of the system
Puts another nail in the coffin of a wisdom
The weapons most deadly
Come just after the singing a diplomatic medley

24
If kids were taught the process of peace in school
We might get war's infrastructure retooled
When empathy is the accelerator of economies
Maybe we won't have to pick up body parts and put them in baggies.

25
GPSs and compasses can't pinpoint the spot
Where philosophy and enlightenment wiggle into the slot
Where enigmas entertain eternity
Is where the axis of earth meets the eagle's acuity.

26
Dabblers in doubt
Take the wrong route
Nibblers of certainty
Eat out the pantry.

27
Since the mind controls the passions, the mind can be deadly
But only thoughts put together by a passion can sing a peace and prosperity melody
Selling sincerity at market rate
With a signature signs away eternity's fate.

28
Thirteen year olds working the streets
Is an indication of hypocrisy's victory and harmony's defeat
Armies of the night and 24/7 surveillance
Sniff out and snuff out any belligerence.

29
Everyday it seems
The world is coming apart, if you listen you can hear the screams
Everyday it seems the world's wonders get more vulnerable
And can only be defended by making visible what's venerable.

30
Lies that dig into the mind like fish hooks
First simmer in the soups of academic cooks
The power rush at any cost is never worth the cost
And when broken down is expelled thru the exhaust
All lies are lost
When you remove the gloss

31
Whether the issues are presented by Thomas Friedman or William Blake
It's not hard to catch on to which one's dead on and which one's the fake.

Ask An Economist

 

They all had that thirsty look and then they noted the snipers and their commanders,
not seeing but noting the poltergeist effects in the street.
Noting the freightened animals eyes when the disorder of the hunter and the hunted is actuated and there's no protection from the reactions of the adamant with firepower and the lust of empire.

So it went in the survival of the most corrupt with diligence of an evangelist but no horse sense with regard to kickbacks for the cosmos
Blindsided if you happen to look thru a pinhole of light that exposes what goes on in the shadowy parts of  the hollow parts.

Rumbling down a mountain comes what looks like a grizzly , knowing the Man has a big bang , never before experiencing except in the ears.
The primeval fixtures become more accentuated, including bearskin rugs for the shooters who give the 360 degrees to anything that moves.
That assures success that can be verified by blood running in the ditches.
Most credit given to the fingers with the least amount of reaction time.

Poverty, what is it good for? ask an economist.
Telling you something like it's a structural filter to keep capital flexible , but usually forget to mention the market function of those licensed to kill to justify ends that have special meaning according to the theories in their manuals.

Beauty Projector

Walking weirdly to avoid hypocrisy,
into a greyscale where the language is whales or maybe dolphins communicating,
making that run diving in and flying out of the ocean.
Living the mystery communicating with the gods who expose beauty.
Looking for a vision that's not wearing camouflage.

The romantics ran into trouble when they found out beauty wasn't enough,
that their true confessions wouldn't be enough to make nature love them as much as they loved nature.
And tried to use what beauty they found like cologne and cigars when they had to run errands in the open sewer sections.

Rear view mirror thinking in the house of mirrors in the brain , networked from head to toe to soul.
Through the foggy soul with eyes of eagles and ears of jungle cats
to a bizare yard sale where angels serve tea and then sit down with you.
A place that Stanley Kubrick could rivet to your flashbacks.

but never enough bang for the buck after the popcorn taste is gone and your cinema sense is back to normal.
Flabbergasting while the world blows a gasket.
And then not much waiting when in the forest fired wasteland little green slivers form patterns.
Wild weeded herbs rooted deep under dead layers of earth.

Exegesis Sneeze

the exegesis are unread-able
the dreams seem unwake-able
the schemes seem unwork-able
but then again there's the view of the valley

hearts are fickle
emotions leave ripples
the economy in a pickle
only way to get thru it is to make like the wind in the barley

and though my fool's reactions have been brandished
and though my thoughts have been fitted with an ankle bracelet
and though my tool box needs to replenished
I'm through with innuendos full of threats
I'm through with things to be wished
I'm out in the rain and already wet.

the gag orders have been issued
Constitutions have been torn apart like tissues and reglued
what goes into the ears has been worked on by professionals and comes out the other end professionally misconstrued
Heading down the highway i catch a glimpse of the sun.

The analysts who seem endless get to what's been preordained using grade 9 algebra
anointing their points with abracadabra
convinced their word wizardry can remove the stripes from zebras
Though i feel a chill there's the start of a feeling of getting unspun.

focused on the maze
dropping off the nights and dug into the days
risking it all for a few rays
moving against the tide of what gets shuffled and what gets shunned.

the airport taser patrol is just a teaser
the real action happens after the crowning of the powerpoint Caesar
at which time they have on call the guys who pick up the pieces with tweezers
The anxiety in my temples must weigh a ton.

roaming in the privatized securitized commons
exspecting to be asked for or issued a ticket and come before a judge who's no Solomon
permanently paranoid catching a glance of walls going up plastered with summons
feeling eternal bleeding and needing eternal healing.

arguments about which integers provide the best integument during the Terror
Proposals coming from spiders who drop down beside the horror,
packaged in a Kafka blur
What hearts and heads they have are innoculated so there's no sense in appealing.


Nature in the bosum of biology
But the bastardized emphasis is on recycled trivia looking for an analogy
and investigations full of faux apologies.
Days made out of rain and sunshine
Seasons made out of millions of colors
uncalculable in dollars
despite the market place crawlers
It feels like a migrane but thank Jesus it's not malign.


Chorophyll mysteries that even a fool can fit into
that paralyzes the taboos
that negates the snafus
that separates the diamonds from the rough stuff.

that winds down the temperature of misers
that whistles in the wind and there's none the wiser
Comes down to you, yourself and your advisors
to say when and what's enough and when to jump the bluff.

Maybe mass hypnotism wouldn't work

Mad dogs and the English language barking and howling and opening fences without defences except for  pathetic fourth generation tactics.
In other words they will never surrender, they have a hold of some concept of honour that allows them to live through the horror.
Where it will end is in someone's brain,
however the brain works , however it makes its decisions, biochemical electrical somehow gettting it on with the gestalt of the psychological.

So peace is possible but not likely considering war is an industry more than it is a misunderstanding .
Minds trained to throw gasoline on the fire.
Minds trained to read the bottom line of spreadsheets.
Subsidized by all the all capital and all the Kings men putting it together just like the hunters and gatherers did.

The obvious question is how to mass hypnotize the button pushing brainy types as well as the more emotional types who know how to follow orders.
thinking always hurt them and their mommies always soothed them by whatever means available.
Maybe mass hypnotism wouldn't work.
Organize don't mourn Joe Hill said.
for love of freedom.
for love of letting your vibes come alive and letting them do the loving

it's in Australia

Spring is not here
it's in Australia
spinning and shimmying on its axis.

The clueless go shopping
eat up the environment with their eyes while the place where their souls normally would have been
look like a big box retailer before the stores open.

the rhythm of their brains off just a half beat
making sounds like computer generated jazz ,
trying to tidy up the variables,
imitating the sounds of coyotes in the studio,
getting exuberant when they hear it on the radio.

Spring is not here
its in Australia
heating up the earth, going about its biz.


luxury with whiskey hangover for some
market discipline for the marchers demanding moonlight without a hungry belly
without negativy in the teapot
without a tempest to chill their uncivil nights.

blindfolded bliss affecting vision and balance on the other side of the track where they're not packed in like chattel with the glazed over look of Gaza
The glaze of greed is more to their liking , holding on to links to the seconds of luxury , trying to forget about anything that could take things to the brink of disaster like getting stuck in a long weekend holocaust.

Spring is not here
it's in Australia,
peeking up from the south like the crocuses.

Resurrection in Real Time

The present to be continued, moody and unpredictable by traditional means of measurement
Refections like vultures detecting flesh running out of its history, wondering which way it went .
Mortals gather around the portals of enlightenment.
Gaze at the stars and then gaze at their watches, silently synchronizing something systematic and soothing to get them through solitary confinement if they can't beat the rap of the security apparatus.

Resurrection in real time
with the feeling of waking up and remembering fragments from a dream,
the familiar recategorized.

Hearing jangling of the charms of the devil dragging the chains on brains up to the next level.
Politics per usual per perverted intellectual finding a cycle with just a touch of lightning and a comfortable seat from which to direct resources to their door step.

Lifting off from illusions as pervading as the messages of kings without any opposition to speak of,
Escaping thru holes punched in the paradise lust of material persons with big budgets to blow on the same old right stuff that got us stuck in the first place.

Touching Lips

Chanting and crashing while the world fizzes out
the world of eye level mirages, neverless with the infrastruture in place to inflict pain through the epidermis of illusion
using decisions made in committe rooms to keep the necromancy policies thriving ,
picking through paranoia and enjoying it.

And then walking through casinos and hospitals
hearing sounds of of desperation on both sides of the waiting rooom walls
and hearing the sounds of feeding compulsions and obsessions into the slots,
bell and whistle recall as the blood is drawn per requisition.
Cerebrally counting events, past and future, summing up and then getting an illumination from a faraway star,
what's in your head just the tip of it.
Down the hall radiation treatments kill cells and draw memories out into the open,
travelling through time , space just sitting there waiting.

While at the same time revelations rain on the wastelands
pealing like bells against isolation as thoughts fall in exhaustion
finding out how it feels to be a piece of driftwood washing up on a beach
the vibe of the tides in the eyes
scanning the area for the practitioners of mercy.
The cool cool truth touching lips.

Strip Mall Camps

Any tongue will do
Anytime at all
To spit out a clue
Like a race horse out of a stall.
Telling tales of treachery
And the power behind the trenches
That picks out taken for granted gratuities
And leaves collateral stenches.

Institutional robbery , raw with the law losing its head.
Slick talkers and their slippery fingered assistants setting up systematic soliloquys,
Redistributing hate, either innate or from a book they read.
Getting out the word with venal ventriloquy.

Watch the exit ramp.
They're doing structural strangulation at the strip mall camps
where they snap on clamps to help your concentration .

Thinking About Freedom

 

No one can give you freedom , no more than anyone can give you breath ,
any more than any one can give you a blessing if you don't want to receive it.
Rolling with Spinoza on his long logic river.
Self validating with memories and memes coming together in dreams you can't hold but that can squeeze you,
tranquilizing the timelines step by step
til all that's seen is sacred,
even the inner workings of species that will do anything to keep on eating.

Thinking about the evil of economics when the law of supply and demand shakes down the invisible hand.
This social science that categorizes and then dishes out the lightning strikes for the under funded,
the principles fuzzy , using infinity to explain the actions of finite little fingers,
grubby , muddling the numbers and bundling assets that come out of your pockets,
that come out of the Earth's assets under all those sunsets.


There's no cheating the dialectic and its train wrecking
when confusion blows in picking out blues riffs that got you thinking about some facsimile of heroin if there can be no freedom.
Or thinking about some night time nebulous fragrance that disorientates the hero worshipping so nobody is following the leaders to the front lines deaf and dumb to the blinders.
Thinking about self-preservation by learning to love in the rain without complaining.

Calling All Choruses

Post traumatic stress coming out of the wreck
Emotional details dovetail
Hell on hand , hope ejects,
The train coming, roped to the rail.

The past like a light bulb in a bare room.
Police pleasers in place.
Big bangs and micro-booms
With a military-industrial embrace.

Touches of tyranny with tears tearing open
The pain centre in the brain.
The technicians , when they're off duty , become gluttons
Giving the shivers to the naive on lover's lane.

Calling all choruses.
Keep thumping on the thesauruses.

Prelim

Everything you need
Can be ground out of greed
If you make haste and make others bleed
And are sensitive and have a sophisticated shiv to suit any situation.

The committee cops, bought, keeping the guile going and the top on
They don't care what's right or wrong
Whether you're brunette or blond
Long as you're capable of deforming your faint hearted fantasies into hell fiery fixations.

Eluded guys slurping on sluices of power , ( surrounded by A types getting ripe and rowdier by the hour.)
Getting excited by reports from the agencies
Then there's the wound up and ready-to-return-to-the-wombers getting wanton, looking sweet and sour.
Flipping thru albums of trophy atrocities
A few taking the detour du jour but nobody knows what they wore,
Somebody put the scissors to their accessories.


The world seems dirty,
Life shorter than a ditty
So better pick out the right gear
If you wanna be inured to the cool of the coroner.

History mugging like rats in the rain
Making it hard to tell who slipped and who was slain
And how ice can be maintained in your veins.
But be wary if you're a foreigner

There's always the chance of a tip off
Or a ripoff
Making things tough
So just offer yourself up until the ice melts.

Or get up earlier than usual and bypass the wallow you have to swallow every morning
To beat the floating forlorning
And the crown of thorns thing.
Lots of us have been beaten by a belt.


Outside of the potential for annihilation
We enjoy the fruits of the nation
And give credit to the Creation,
While the wasteland brand is brutal.

The alarms awaken
To true truths forsaken
And belongings have been taken
By schemers raunchy for stock launchings and riot squadings that keep the future bootless and futile.

Looking for a river to dip in
Where the elements run like elephants over assassins.
Even if the integrity is thin,
There's word of a tunnel or a funnel.

Glory's got a reputation for being gory
Its always a worry
Whether in a traffic distracted scurry
Or trapped in a place like Iraq getting chunked into charnel.

Fear's overrated, the work of hangman zealots
Weighs on you heavier than midnight eyelids,
The reason for the riot after the quiet.
Using these moments to motorize some maxim.

After roller coaster rides your equilibrium is such that the tendency is to walk right by the hideouts of the ogres,
Delaying the show-down with the flippers of dollars
But no reason to be mean and meagre.
This is only the prelim.

Halloween Antenna

Free thought , free breath
A free person
And then there's the Macbeths
And everything worsens

Trying to make it through the day
Under clouds of suspicion
Cloaked in the Halloween way
Driving to ambition.

Paranoid as Freud
Walking the dim lit streets of Vienna
Feeling the vicissitudes of the void
Hitting his antenna.

Another day another dollar
Itching in between the bitter cold bipolar.

Let Sanity Shine Through

They did the medium mash til the minds went to mush.
Then the indiscriminate bombing seemed just
Then the disparities didn't jar , didn't even register til the refugees started making a scene,
Since sooner or later time will turn to dust anyway.

Curious thinking patterns of the plug and play people of the westernized section wrecked on something that makes egos blush
Proud of full bellies , hearing for whom the polls indicate victory, and for whom the experience of shopping is a work in progress blossoming.
Knowing the the rules and regulations of trolling through the huddled masses who have crashed due to their coordinates being out of order
Trolling for diamonds amongst the trash
Knowing that after the killing comes the consumer confidence,
After the framing and blaming have been plotted and project managed and mind mapped for implementation.

Through the windows the ambulances sit idle and await their cue.
Let the twinkle in the eye not die, nor the smile wither into a fear.
May the storm troopers be stuck by lightning and go blind and learn to play the piano.
May the misery makers beg for mercy, telecommunicating it across the universe.
Let sanity shine through

Through the windows the ambulances sit idle and await their cue.
Let the reflexes be quick enough to avoid the helicopter launched rockets into the open air market.
May the pumping heart pound and pulsate through the eyes of the angry young men and the bitter old ones with a grudge growing grievances in the mold between their toes.
Let sanity shine through.

Through the windows the ambulances sit idle and await their cue.
Let the weddings be free from satellite synchronization and every day vultures who sell mortgages.
Let births be quick and the babies tough.
May the old folks sit in the shade of trees remembering nothing but the rush of love.
Let sanity shine through.

Swinging into the Sun's Direction

Compassion, both the conservative variety and the kind that reacts to the loony bastard syndrome,
Firewalled behind monologues carelessly coded to keep the action detached.
Keeping the killing fields separate from the playing fields, at least for the first half.
Eyes shifting like a petty criminal's on a train in an Alfred Hitchcock flick.

An unconscious action.
Its all about the alpha game plan.
All about coming out smelling like roses despite the blood on hands heaving a heavy imagination.

Performing a function analogous to an earth worm , but nobody can say what it is or if its being done right.
Stymied by the information hollowmen at home in their head of heads.

Some facts can be established.
A baby at birth is as wise as any microorganism that eats up the earth and transforms its texture.
But its purpose after years of morning breakfasts and nights of dreams of sometimes flying, sometimes falling,
becomes a blurred eyed broken winged bird , aware as Sid Vicious that something is missing.

The reasons for the deformities have been picked over with the fine tooth combs,
preludes to the pretexts for down the road detonating that occupies so many waking hours.
The reasons for the rest of it , undefined and aching for some awe if only we could get our paws on it,
Hip to the mental precipitation letting go over this ball of organic fallout ; with its limited amount of chill control over the savage priests.
Even Hitler liked music and could tell a joke but his mind went to mush when bitten by a cold hate of an adult hell that his civilized surroundings couldn't sooth away.
He's just the extreme of a long line of virus attacked progenies or perhaps its just a problem that hasn't yet been debugged from since when genesis packaged the genes with some defective DNA, gumming up the conatus access of the species.

And jumping for the danger being marketed from the end of a string.
Aware of lyrics in ears and swinging into the Sun's direction
And suddenly a realization that simplicity has been under estimated.

The sounds of banging a gong.

Peace. Its a long line to get your ticket.
Peace. Its a dirty word for the dirty people with the dirty jobs that someone has to do it.
IT has to be refined by philosophers, dickered with by the psychologists.
Spooky people who brought science fiction to a fine science.
Hyperlinks help if you happen to be reading them.
I prefer science fiction building charges for the soul.
But that's spooky too considering the territory you've got to travel through.
The extremes on the loose.

So say Peace, and you'll feel your feet on the ground.
Feel the primary causes blow off the blahs.
Get a divorce from the melancholy and the anxiety rattling off statistics that don't quite come into focus and find what has to be fixed
Divine , unfortunately, has been taken over by a nefarious group of malefactors , going on a long time now.
In its purest sense the Divine can be sensed by all but its hard to tell if its the real thing or being made a fool of by opportunists.
But Peace that's a real opportunity to let the organic and the inorganic fill you up with the sounds of banging a gong into the linguistic hollows of the head.

god by another name

The decay has set in helped along by honchos who have lost their heads and don't want you to forget it.
Paying for luxury by lap dancing to the tune of the too loud rock and roll coming through the devil's amplifiers.
Skilled at deep consumption and living hand to hedge fund.

Priceless experiences of Lamborghini fantasies.
Pumping the senses with appropriate stimulants and nutrients.
Dressed in loose fitting evil.
Eaten on the inside by off-the-radar locusts, but in their ears they hear the August crickets.

Except for the humbug unleashed on a perfectly good species, things wouldn't be so bad.
In the labs they're working out what's the most effective means of containment---bone biting biological or its psychological sidekick,
dogmatized for convenience and an integral part of the market godhead.
But it's the hypocrisy that's the killer as far keeping down your dinner.

Have faith and the Secret will sweep you off your feet like the tornado taking Charlie Parker out of Kansas.
Faith and a little behind the scenes fixing.

The poor will always be needed to mill the Mercedes grace of the full-of-shit shakers.
Greed by another name will always glitter as the kleptocracy innovates and gets better and better.
The bands keep playing while the band-aids are applied to the hemorrhaging suppliers of labour.
The castle building continues on the backs of of the billions hustling to keep on eating.
The chemically imbalanced and the psychologically challenged enjoy the panoptic view.
There's occasional rushes of euphoria that they attribute to being voluntarily deranged all in a good cause.

Its a little bitty psyche thing.
Motivation gone off the deep end.
The vulgarity between the ears of a minority got the majority retching.

In the midst of this moonlessness the moon makes its move into the underground atoms.
You can hear pinging , by passing the godheads and the golden calf crew.
A god by another name retouching yesterdays.
And todays where the sun swallows the greys.

Face to Face

With such a good choice of god images, responses vary.
From the lazy cloud god to the thunder and lightning thug god.
From the test tube trial and error god to the boobed-tubed brain-dead god.
From the god hunting hound dog to the god whispering congregation trying to have their cake and eat their guilty conscience.

Will power and the will of god speeding along, statistically ready for a head-on.
Kingdoms of illusions don't do you any soothing.
Whatever the facts it's the interpretation that's telling and will either take you down a garden path or perhaps to an exit where the churches have all crumbled,
to where the apparitions in your eye come out and have a face to face for the very first time.

Lots of LucK

any which way the the fascists manifest there's sure to be lack of tact and
biting at your back
sure to be bats in their belfries and unidentifiable body parts in their deep freezers
sure to be sucking on gothic coughdrops by the policy crew who will not waver in the presence of sunny sidebars outlining possible scenarios without the option to crush ordinary ear hearing
and eye seeing everyday people following patterns of reasoning looking for something to cherish rather than something to vanquish , life without dust-ups.

The preference is for traffic engineers who have had their perspective educated out of them
which results in a lot of highways to here, there and nowhere you want to go without a hit of irony as they rearrange the lay of the land according to a long drawn out law of physics.
The boys who suppress the blues taking swings at any axioms suspected of being infected with touches of evil.
The sciences that fool with consciousness require diligent regulation to subdue combative theorems that get people thinking about what to do about what gets outside, and  on the wrong side of, pandora's box.

meanwhile research and developement biotech department have come up with an organism that has all the signs of developing into a kind of a tree,
first visualized upon reading Tolkien ,
that bears a kind of forbidden fruit that cannot be resisted by wishful thinkers.
The guys and gals in the sales department are blissful thinking about the commissions.
And in the optics department the human resources are ready to test run an anti hallucination projector that disappears the problems that cause revolutions.

They got the technology if you got the time to terrorize yourself with self doubt configured into the psyches of mere commoners by the readily available conmen, 
or rather the options contractors with advanced degrees in selling the sizzle.

they got their whole world in a humvee they hope is resistant to IEDs.
Machine minds that hope never to die 
grinding out a hope to catch a viral wave and ride the expanding universe.
Going faster than the speed of hell
A Lots of Luck logo pinned to their lapels.

it stays unpredictable and beautiful

There's no lock on the Napoleon syndromish gnomes guarding the gold and wearing Freudian wardrobes.
They rock and roll in the the astral planes of power.
In the media they come across as ghosts disobeying the laws of linguistics.
They rely heavily on clerks in the dark to keep the infrastructure shaking with the early signs of Parkinson's.

The pollsters in play to massage the the numbers with the message that its all about to crumble if the depraved are not punished with poverty.
And finally the structural stranglers(brought in from Boston) appear like axmen of old,
as the ugly evil necessary to maintain the integrity of the pleasant gathering places where gorging on cornucopia is kept within a rigid statistical percentage.

Into this biopolar world( getting more bi and more polar by the minute)
are entered (usually online) mythical agendas and
and mind-boggling logical propositions to mop up the mess.
Everybody spouting various cultural interpretations of Amen.

From time to time the leaders, on make shift stages like the gallows you might see on a Clint Eastwood set,
ask the gathered extras, You understand?
But what is understood is not the issue.
The crucial variant is whether the gathered are half full or half empty ---of fear.
The most educated have picked at it with scientific method for umpteen generations,
devising applications with tough love components based upon the early research on your basic caveman club.

None the less there is reason for some optimism.
Like wild and beautiful weeds, energy seeps out of this system.
Despite the defoliants and the fact bashing technocrats,
from the deeps of the Earth and the ends of the universe it stays unpredictable and beautiful.

lungs full of springtime

The anwers cannot be found when explosives are used to re mold artifacts of the petrified past
and terrorize peasants of the present.
Wars of the 20th century seen on tv
ghosts murdering ghosts
wondering what it is , what the is is that assembles masses of humans with minds set on murder-one.
Righteous from the get go to the lowering into the hole with full honors for the donors of blood sacrifices.

Staggering in the smoke for a glimmer of hope in hell in the battlefield brought
to you by the folks with that certain something that brougt you the Battle of the Somme
All in the cause of picking plums in the battle of business as usual.

some blue book or red book or maybe just flyers pinned to the trees in paradise by the devil on patrol,
with instructions on havoc for the hell of it
the code imprinted on brains and digested by DNAs.

More and more murder does not a human make
that's the fake end of the spectrum of where what's human freezes.
Holding breath with lungs full of springtime
eyes full of seasons tender to the touch
the gore for gold fever quivering in a vision neck deep in it's own disasters.

little slivers of daylight

The words had an alien lilt to them , alien from off earth , not from across the border
Which was good he thought, earthlings tend to get physical , where as the off-earthers approach is all mental, which could give him a headache, but he liked his mood when they were around ---all summed up on the bumper sticker of his SUV-- the No Fear one you could read sometimes  when stuck in traffic.
He got the gift of bossing around bullies.
Leaves the policy for those with  shit in their heads and faces in the monitors.
But as long as they knew how to use their elbows when they got shoved into corners,
taking the mean bastard route that they tried , but never succeeding in keeping from the kids .
But the headaches were becoming more frequent and more severe.
He considered it a hangover from original sin or something someone once said from the altar at church,
Although the congregation forced themselves and the kids to be quiet,
the heads were buzzing and easiy distracted ,
especially when it got mixed up with television and other serious bullshit,

He always went along to get along , when you have a bouncer learning-style you have no choice in what you got to lose,
and you get progressively uglier until no one wants to be in the same room with you,
Even thinking about such a state of mind can give you the creeps, head flashing with a vision of a robotic sewer rats.

when the gears shift,
the aliens like us, you'll find, are getting low on raw materials( a distant cousin of stardust)
The stuff that produces the nano-technology , or its upgrade , that allows nerds  evil to the nth all over the universe, to travel such long distances and stick to your winshield.
So yes, the market's in for a major shift.

The call of revolution inversely proportional to this caw cawing all along the pecking line.
Better back-up the bird brains and forget about flying.
And more importantly, lying to one's self , for a hell of a lot of good it does you.
The fog is rolling off, even little slivers of daylight are a sign of life.

the next feast

take the the last airliner out of this latest hot spot with a revolution and a hurricane coming
back to the peace and quiet where there's no getting away from the hum of convenience
the neighbors have all been trained and the ones that haven't got the flame thrower breath of the law to contend with.

Some of them let their emotions carry them away
which has the effect of people opening their eyes and seeing the hell all around them
minefields with heaven in the background.
its a condition that's spreading, that's got the commissars manufacturing laws they say the surly surely deserve , getting what they got coming to them.

And the corollary also holds:
the weasels of war and oppression and their support systems-- because its always worked so well before--- stand before the flags saluting before the next big advance,
their hearts emitting a vibe like what happens during the wave at the big game,
cherishing the sense of belonging,
in the pocket of security
but all the same keeping an eye on the exits and
ocassionally fiddling for their car keys.

Paranoia of the fittest with the ringside tickets ,where it all looks like a circus where every patsy must be picked apart
the mistakes and what seemed unavoidable reactions at the time
come back to haunt ,
invisible tragedies blowing around like autumn leaves

Hearts breaking out of the hell hotel , who could tell,
Who in their right mind would have bet on peace without that code of deception clouding the faces of the sound-bitten ubiquitous persons ?
The colors of the rainbow outside sending an effortless message
The stock market witch-doctors hold onto their pharmaceutical stocks
The tempature of the planets remains within an acceptable range , for this morning anyway,
The control centres dying of ignorance in the midst of data
and during the break there's clearing off the inevitability of fate for the next feast.

Doing Immitations of John Travolta

Unable to put together the logic of Solomon with the incertitude of the bug eyed-mothers wondering what this son of Bathsheba---doing well despite the blood splattered background he came from---was likely to do
The real mother having heard stories and so knowing he wouldn't think twice about a dissection of exibit one .
Still she couldn't tell if he was bluffing.
And wondering what he would have done had the two of them not been living in a sand blasted hut.
Wondering what he got out of it.
Wondering why sitting on a throne , high and mighty, wasn't enough .


But that's the discretion of kings and presidents insulated by selected constitutional tissue paper,
with the confidence of knowing any cock and bull homily can be turned into policy by switch and bait practitioners ,
mule skinning since they were seven,
floating cerebrally in the deprivation tanks of their own making.
Its interesting how the words squeezed out of the languishing linguistic links in the heads of a few crooning men and delusional women , and vice versa,
have been able to get war cries harmonizing with the nickle and diming of war crime-ing , coming out the front door of the bank.
 

The reconciliation is gone when you sit down at a table with well dressed believers in fables,
and the agenda that will bend you is put on power point
and you got to sign on the dotted line that all your problems are gone,
leaving you hanging expendable if you lack enough flex in your genuflect.

And one look in their eyes and you know that the group-think shrinks have got to them.
And so you wander the earth's circuses for fixes,
for a room to rest free from the fumes of wisdom learned in the dark
as taught by idolaters doing imitations of John Travolta.

the parsing of magic

Take the darkness away--- those words in eyes 
desperate for light to hit aching irises.
Terrified of degeneration into nightmare before scanning the span of dawn.
Seeking some reasoning for the chill up the spine .

the war parades continue. Only the armour and the caliber have changed
The fangs remain the same.


there's My PM who spent many long hours in the attic studying portraits of Napoleon,
practicing that look , combining sourness and innocense--- a young curmudgeon who only came down from the attic to sneak bites of his mother's fudge.

A moralistic perfectionist , sometimes called bitch behind his back, but he likes it like that,
all the better to boil you in the self righteousness held in by his skin.
Nastier than the gnats attracked to your sweat.
Protective of the glass in his jaw and chin.

His leadership proves that the aliens have prevailed ,
the too soft and creamy ones --- exposing their nervous systems at a certain angle so they can pick up the inter- galactic instructions
on how to devolve and love the alligator inside.


the 50's horror flick prophesies have come to pass
the human nuance bit off and spit at the gods deep-linked to emotions without a cause
except maybe holocaust for the hell of it as a way to get Jesus back here quick
And practice pride after renaming it; keeping it civilized and reeking with rationales.


meanwhile the chimes of other dimensions emitting light, coming thru canyons where whimsy changes into wind,
the parsing of magic , the start-up logic out of the box,
labours of love putting together the bricks to  be used after the flop of the apocolypse.

nakedness for the hell of it

They call it revolution
whenever the guns come out
pitch forks and IED's
pointed at the armoured knights with software underbellys,
tight security for their lily white Achilles heels.
They stay away from the front unless the front goes to them,
statistically unlikely but it does happen.
Anyway they're prepared, they've been practicing how to grunt for the cameras.

Shift down to the lower end of the hierarchy pole,
(it needs the grease of the blowhards with links to good dictionaries,
you know---to explain things.)
there you'll find the wage slaves worrying about the mortgage.
When the war component of the the market system is called in to smooth out market dysfunction
there you'll find baby faces in camouflage and khaki
and there you'll find an in- the-rough revolution.

Desperate people degenerate and sometimes regenerate
falling into fertile fields with flowers as far as the eye can see and fragrances heavy with hallucinations
but watch out for the falling thoughts that don't.
Getting back to the market: everything you need to know you learned in that nursery rhyme that comes like spit in the face;
after reading it aloud 100 times in a row you're
ready to pull the loose thread on the fabric;
nakedness for the hell of it.

in the line of light

hiding the unconscious before the cops get here
they don't respect your privacy
there is no privacy as far as they're concerned
its all a battle to maintain stability
a variation of 1984 , but with better jokes twisted up with bitter irony


So in the middle of hiding the unconscious , but it can't be hidden ,
maybe disguised, freaks in the sights of the satellites

the Earth and its Nature backdrop for for the Big Eye constantly refocusing
Paranoia in paradise makes for sensual panic attacks.
Paradise doing what it does best , deflecting consciousness, connecting with consciousness
in a schizoid loop
its a habit, hard to break it
to break thru it

To forget and remember
Forget the ugliness remember the beauty
or else reframe the ugly and become untamed by the beauty
Take a position that's maybe twisted maybe risky, when getting unstuck from junkie missions and make- a -monkey- out -of -me juxtapositions
conjured up in the cookie cutter colleges run by football theologists and applied to the young and curious with the womb still at the back of their minds.


from wombs to and bomb shelters
life pushing its way out of the spookiness and into the line of light

blogging about paradise

Pinned down and stretched by the expanding universe,
wanderinging in the mind.
Only 40 clicks away from the grunting of the retro-slave trade,
free labour an integral part of the free trade operation.
Free in the sense that those who do the labour get
credit crunching and their meters reading in the negative.
Road side economies blowing up convoys according to maxims that have slept too long with the mushrooms.
There you will also find the movers and manipulators of of market mechanisms poking out like cannons from the sides of gunships.

The world according to the armnaments industry:
their biochemists have identified the violence gene,
a microcosm whose cause and effect can be traced and replicated.
Then the philosophers r us talk it up like cavemen who've just discovered how to attach a pointed rock to the end of a stick.

from the ground zero site to best kept out of sight shanty towns
from the hedge fund heartland to the the dirty water bottomland
9/11 reasoning going 24/7 with a casino buzz and bourbon breath
And everywhere you look , there's the fuzz observing ,
looking to fast track some interaction with some poor klutz who wants to beat the house and
spends a lot of time speaking out of turn about the dream machine.
Just wants to suckle onto the logarithms in the raw
despite the crawl up 90 degree angle walls

blogging about paradise
climbing over the ruins
resting in what for a split second could be taken for heaven
and then going back at it again.

there's the wicket, get a ticket

Betrayals derail the finite's train
Thundering into the rough and untouched using dynamite for a crutch
Getting giddy on heaven on earth, lying in it for a sec with no aim.
Becoming a human target for more of the same such and such
that delivers up wishes
opening up windows airing out swindles---
philosophies and psychologies getting too goony for their britches,
but regardless performing a refresh function as time dwindles.

The maybe way to inject the genus holding the joystick
Controling a mind field of remote possibilities
Joy as a human right , there's the wicket, get a ticket
don't count out any proclivities
that might tap into the tender,
a mood mover and a mind mender.

the loose parts of the shell shocked

Continents ring with the loose parts of the shell shocked.
The big players , elected and unelected , play out their emotions to the assembled crowds.
Addicted to applause, passing laws to to get tasers hanging like a fire extinguishers on a handy wall.
Keep it orderly, professional and procedural.
Any screams as the disrupters are dealt with by the deciders, should be seen , not in the terms of temporary physical discomfort of the confused who question the flag waving tropism, but with a mindset that realizes that 
in order to be a survivor with that feeling of security, its necessary to
try and see it in the light of the higher good of the unifying power of the state united with a spiritual understanding that's imprinted on the psyche.
Like being on holiday with Hegel and he hogs the towels.

The intrigue's got minds smokey.
Everyday insights blown up like the Goodyear blimp.
Ocassionally the very thought of it leads to running to the washroom and retching.
Mostly this all mental disruption can be healed with care free shopping or a long weekend that has the one liners of the articulate class stamped all over them.
And then come back still afflicted but ready to keep the numbers rolling the very next Tuesday morning.
Its a scaly skinned vision that needs covering in polite company.

Still, day becomes night and night becomes day and
there's a vespertine moment filled with fragrance free in the middle of a field,
or in the middle of a field in the midst of a moment.
Or on a street or a room that as a result of a geopolitical shift have slipped outside the mind that keeps the tears in.
Poised to pull on hearts with slack strings,
listening hard in subterranean speak-easys ,
picking at getting unlocked and enabled to distinguish the fake from the real thirst quencher.

even the best cut diamonds

ready to die , to not say the words of appeasement
to not say, to not say surrender
to not wear the apron and serve the masters of terror
with their threat of indiscriminate death.
Mind filled with images of the chaos , scanning the alternatives,
accepting , gasping for the last sweetness of breath with guns aimed at heart and head.

The government patrolled by mean hearted meme lovers
who work out a disney world world scenario to wrap their souls in.
Full belly wisdom with tight security,
giving the brains behind the throne time to bait their hooks with tempting outcomes to lure those most fit for survival at the higher levels, those who can make the blood drained decisons,
Safely plugged in like good toasters.

hate gets creative
jungle fever spreads through the offices where they do the categorizing of the targets
who refuse to be quaint peasants sinking into the surroundings where tourists can safely go and haggle in their markets.
Minds made up like beds in the barracks  you can bounce a quarter off.

There's alternative endings to consider.
There's flashes of memory like lightning hitting the ground 20 metres from your face.
Trying to consider a time before F-16's jetted like devils in a bad dream.
A time , a time when , to beat the heat, the soul could come outside and jump into the stream,
coming out of the eyes that could shame the way the light hits even the best cut diamonds.

where the river meets the bridge

the ticklers of fancy
taking actions that risk blow back
optimum out come is chancy
but they don't have the sense to get off the track

its the end of the world for the dead
the living tour though hell
looking for the end of the thread
that leads up the stairs where they crack the spells

a film noir neighborhood
nuance disguished as knowledge
shuffling along with should-haves and shoulds
making way for where the river meets the bridge

its got a view
its got a big sky and its blue.

swinging in the breeze

There was hope and there were pieces of rope
There was the rain and there was the sun
there were salmon pools and there were cesspools
It takes a while for the eyes to focus and distinguish the differences

Rudderless on the sea , on the shore Yossarian in a tree.
Calculating for currents, giving up disgustedly,
and getting back to it when pushed out by the quiet and the sunrise.

there were trifles and then came the rifles and the ridiculous reinventing agony
and there were moon beams in a hammock in a dream
swinging in the breeze

Friendless and fender bended
and befriended with time to spend it
spotting the spot lights and forgetting everything that was taught
hearing the acceleration of war talking trash,
making machines out of humans
the din turning Earth into sin city of the universe

if you could get the astronomical perspective
like maybe get out to the space station and if you could maybe keep your head together, what with being all bundled up in a space suit and drinking all that space juice
and getting a realization that lo and behold , the flesh has been made simulacra,
similac to mother's milk.

And happening like a heart attack in reverse:
eyes longing for the day and the perfect temperture
for paradise moments that came and then were gone and then came again.
A process to pray for or to speak like a free person in a theatre for,
or to eat and drink and draw another breath for.

from Kabir to Gershwin

I am squashed under the tumbling rumble rousers with positions that have control over the activity of gun powder and even uglier add-ons.
Political eathquakes shaking things up , playing for high stakes.
See me , hear me but don't torch me , is the plea and the prayer to
Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines with their satellite guided integration

evolving beyond us , with CentCom software humming in their central nervous systems.
After the hard headed victories comes the soft headed parades.
The kids picking up the excitement.
A bit of a break from those
Digital devices always close at hand in case they have to contact God and check out His prices.

Evolution takes a long time to kick into the brain
Even longer to kick out the jams ,
and go with the overflow of love taking off the camouflage,
the kind that begins and ends
in an unhinged place you could never imagine;
the kind that covers everything from Kabir to Gershwin,
with its effects constantly kicking in

this side of the books at Hitler's bedside

Lying is a requirement for success in the ever tested black kettle
Fakery and mendacity in official circles requires advanced degrees
to jiggle the concepts that begin with a specified outcome
and ends when everyone swallows the process
Back tracked with hobbled latin and and down home animation;
and hot wired sincerity to drum up proof for the restless

There's never neen such ugliness this side of the books at Hitler's bedside
You've got to be strong to survive both the bombastic obvious bastards and the snoozers with the cruel streak
who take you for a fool-- that's the first rule.
That's the 101 that they all get sentimental about at the cocktails parties and BBQs, drawing a line in the dialectic.
and getting their asses well beyond it.
Just doing their job, robbing Peter to bump up their pay checks,
extending credit to the devil they know.
Systemic conditions that the early homosapiens analyzed but were stuck for words at the time, so never gave it a name

L.iving in the age of runnaway options
The sun shines into the basement window
Living in the age of mental illness pills for profit
A piece of crystal hanging there picks it up and sprays little rainbows over the walls and the computer monitors
Its the mirror month of September, soon to be November
Seeing clearly, but just barely, momentarily remembering an out of mind experience while inadvertently breathing the air.

fill in the form

the ghosts walk thru the doors and walls
disturbing the peace with their ancient and recent creepy deeds
surfing the brain waves of children like a coded trojan
coming out of the mouths of teachers who've learned to live with their infection,
happy to be conduits for the reasoning of the well placed officials with the education
and the police with the street smarts that haven't been as yet hindered by the annual sensitivity in-services;
engineering their dream homes and molding soldiers and bureaucrats for their fate  
performing their zombie routines at where ever it is  they've been shipped out to.
 
So its spooky here but just now I heard a bird calling, maybe a blue jay, screeching with feeling
Nature with a mind of its own
Humans trying to model it , getting acquainted with calamitous actions that send a message that ultimately gets blown out of the mouth of fuhrs and presidents
And on the other hand there's days at the beach watching the sunset and later on wondering what it teaches after it has touched you.
 
None of the testimony can be believed when you're dealing with theives who have written the laws that divvy out the sweets refined from nature's resources.
To catch that kind of thief requires long term project management.
For whom the revolution tolls , fill in the form.

graffiti

From the halls of arms manufacturers to the corner store lottery ticket sellers
gullibility is a well respected quality in society;
gone beserky in the suburbs
Without it the Market would stumble , with nobody to suckle from the big treats of Dream City Mama.
Those who have learned from the mistakes of former Wizzes of Washington, and beyond,
in their advisory capacity,
take their bows, taking credit for selling the sizzle of civilization,
deserved or not.
They stand for a group shot with the marketing department hustlers; you can hear the bustle
and the photographer setting up.
Everybody's smiling.

Furtive four and four score years ago
the heavens opened,
Each and every born person hearing the thunder and trying to catch the beat in the rhythm of the brain.

The mouth begins by speaking graffitti that
cannot survive without an inner treaty.

Before 9/11

Before 9/11 there was the making of the matrix , the exploit joint with a one trick policy fix fanning the fantasy of tinsel tactile institutions substituting for hands on wheel feel of freedom.
Before 9/11 the aching was still in the making, thoughts processed for domination not oblivion, not yet so hyped for the hot button.
There was laughter as the propaganda ops got topped up to cover slights and slaughters, and after, applying fuzzy eye muzzly logic, still getting a buzz from the benefits of the Bomb.
Before 9/11 the fiction flippers, roasted in education, minus realization or operational mirrors, masked their faces with nurturing numbness, not wanting to leave any traces of fabrications; keeping on creeping on.


Before 9/11 concern turned on the dotcom will scam wisdom of the gizmo geniuses perfecting the art of the stock market sneak and the feeding back of circuit board circuses to packs of public stretched out on the consumer rack.

On 9/11 one more time one more horror howled homeless and jetted, vetted in hatred, into the jungle of the lawman , into a symbolic bottleneck, junking the symmetry of hegemony. Ground zero unzipped in the west. Agonized eyes, more used to earnest anesthesia, zooming in on the the zeitgeist, in the zone of the mass moan. A one hit weirded out wonder flying the wrong way down monster lane.

Then after that the chant became a rant rendering fender-bendering of everyone's rights to be human beings unbound , everything got piped thru the annihilation migraine. No one in an official node getting the nod or the nudge to take a chainsaw to the mendacity or to the official avenger agenda , a chaser for the policy swallowing imperial pact,
a flexible pretext for amending what matters most, to most people, into the shape of a pretzel; and official death for the undefended(kept undefined) -- guilt and innocence just concept confabs for spinning epistemologies out of their molds,
grasping for the hegemony perks for jerkoffs to puff up their peak performances.
And the only drawback is the slo-mo blowback of the limbless and the grimness periodically making it on television shaming the sham for a brief trash flash, but hardly any reprimand as the loonie-land band plays lunatic loops for the well armed and the dangerously inane.

The chances of cracking open this continuum: slim; the temptation of power, sinister and older than the sun, pulling on the psyche.
All eyes on the hat, waiting for the rabbitt to be pulled out of the facts.


Whistle whilst walking past the planet of alienated apes working themselves into a state of hate and hit harder, whilst charting out a no nuance map
Out on the edge of the pledge of ignorance
Where the glory glow won't hold, where war won't ingratiate fate or satiate the autoerotic suck up of other people's pluses, an autonomic reaction of the wizzes of biz and bombing-to-make-it-better, giving even their own gods the jitters as they incant smash and grab because they can without even a self conscious cough , leaving the tab for the titillated bit player taxpayers and jilted grunts at the front , while laptoppin' Homers leave digital skid marks to skim the news to be behind the lines.

Wars of weaseled words and thought blocked talk of war dimming the cognitive content of the killing component in the the war stimulating process.
And while there's visions like the fission decision in a long ago lab telling there's something that should be shook off , there's no resisting the sizzle of a little insanity encoding the coldness of rationale, enfolding all resources simultaneously into a cemetery for all systems. And you don't need a hounddog to pick up the scent of something rotten in the state of denial.
There's no more before 9/11
just some kinda raison d'etre to sweat thru and call out for a few new hand eye coordination schematics to reset this glory glitched hypnotic trance -- no more war dances.
No more post 9/11 lemon trances.

a hundred and one news conferences

 

Dreamy eyed and articulate , paranoids often mistake him for an alien.
Sincerity is in the air when he's around , like the fragrance of a summer evening,
 Sir Lancelot sitting with his dog.
Big picture man, if the facts don't bear out his articulation the media mouthpieces can be counted on to put a sock in it .
He's confident and often uses the word "supreme" to describe situations that he's had a hand in handling the outcomes of.
He's both esthetic and athletic.
He's a high climbing hierachy man.
He likes pop music that's uplifting.
He talks of war like he was running a Walmart warehouse.
Taught from an early age that the blues are just a bad attitude you can walk away from.
His education consisted of embracing the rhetoric behind the nursery rhymes.
Wearing a uniform brings out his bloom, giving the Phd small talk a sense of danger and beauty  that 's appealing to both the ladies and the gents ,
He gets turned on by absurdity---- and has an overwhelming desire to comfort it.
At get-togethers he can often be seen playing catch-22s with the kids.
He's high on life as its hummed by the 7 Dwarfs.
He sees the silver lining of war and occupation.
He will never surrender but will just turn retreat on its head for a hunderd and one news conferences,
And then have an alibi for his exit.

early morning dew

it started with a trickle , all that babble
giving the realpolitik slip to all that ideology
the high pitch of the shuffling and the flashing, like a red light in your dash when you're driving at night thru moose country,
makes me want to go have a sleep under yonder tree,
stretched out like a weary giant whose trudging has got him nothing to write home about,
and still hungry.

Everybody's got a scripture or a solution
Its the yelling in my ears and the elbows to my chest that I object to.
Can't quite get over the anxiety
pacing the floor picking out tidbits of memory
synched to a beat

And they like the smell of death, while we here like the smell of all four seasons on the wind
and like the universe coming through the eyes of lovers escaping the clutches of witches,
escaping breath by breath , floating not sinking ,on a directionless depth not picked up by compasses and GPS's.

Betting on the stars and the galaxies expanding invisibily thru me ,
leaving the taste of the early morning dew to slide on through.

diminishing returns of ash after the big burn

he fired up his brain and tamed the unnamed numbers tumbling out of the ethers,or maybe it was out of his ears
either that or he just let his education mainline into upper middle nirvana
one part Texas drought , another part New England joke

Fiddling with the fault line running thru his organs
Earthquake speak for you , safety in the numbers, slicked up with signed dollars, for him and his house guests.
Under the minty freshness there's a bizarre breath that'll make the unititiated go woozy,
applied dementia,
lead, with truncheons bouncing off heads, down the garden path, assets expropriated ,
compounding and bouncing , by the magic of the market, out of pocket A and into pocket B.
counting affluence according to how many of the walking talking sweating assets can be put in a zugzwang ,
by hook or by crook or by saturation bombing,
and collecting honey for the big buzz commandering and chiefing down the chain .

under the yoke of the folks who promote the rat races and stoke the treadmills that mint money
engineered to hold only the haves and the half ravaged who seem to be easy to hypnotize
A dragon breath that comes from good breeding and hollywood happy endings

The unpleasantness comes from a physiological generator deep in the DNA basement, churning out krazy glue greed
Sticking the We Win grin over the diminishing returns of ash after the big burn.

whitecaps to wash them away

 
The antinomians and their opposites are loaded up with bombs.
Accelerating economies 200 klicks per hour around the mulberry bush.
That's the way the money goes, not with a bang but with a pop that doesn't need you,
buying agony,
overwhelming the usually upbeat morticians.

Disesaes are researched.
The mental disorders ,that inevitably end in war, are researched.
The researchers besmirched by the tenure tossers that you better not cross,
I'm telling you why,
insanity has gone mainstream, so ignore the screams.

The love of money is in the air.
Inside the war zone they're thankful to be breathing,
practicing being pulmonary.
On the other side of the sad there's a song;
there's a folk legend that says  you got to be alive to sing it.


Debit and credit cards are splashing into the bay
and there's the whitecaps to wash them away.

Soaked angels

Soaked angels in the flooding low lands with drenched wings and no life-jackets.
Shape up or put up with these sanctioned rackets,
these political constructs
Making it personal is a snap for the illusion crew,
Simultaneously lining their pockets.

This data distilled as static, for educated ears only.
Pre approved and in no mood for compromise
Godly in a motley way
A projection that's highly valued and awarded accordingly.


digital images stream thru guilty consciences
arranged into mental scrapbooks
civilized conclaves with in and out points ,where you wear your ethics like cosmetics
considered precious-- even more so , in obituaries, than what has been accumulated.
Yes there are moments , but the exit is always available
and in fact built in as a release valve for the pressures of the hypocritical.
A madness factor built into the architecture.
A methodology derived from the cycles observed as the weather goes wild.
A rough way to reach equilibrium, without end , amen.

no sense making a mountain out of a monstrosity

sunday morning going straight into the week
into the heart of time
into the the juice of the universe

the blues turning indigo
the greens full of chlorophyll
the shades of grey raised


tragedy can be detected in the one liners of the stand-up hypocrites
and there's comedy in the mirrors in the morning
depending on last night's dreams
depending on how good you are at bending around corners.

friends gathered and running rings around catastrophes
no sense making a mountain out of a monstrosity

the thick skin of karma

Right now the rage is pinned up, squeezed of all its power to penetrate the thick skin of karma.
My toes feel cold , my roots in the earth searching for nutrition, coming across a flashing Depletion sign.
The wild weeds grow, the bees come again to the bloom.
End of summer activiity
Earth at its bursting.

And inside me a similar burst ( and an unquenched thirst )for peace and fragments of insight.
the bbq sits on the deck, covered and lonely under the clouds.
No kids can be heard
Somewhere not too far away the sound of a backhoe.

In my ears there 's a buzzing on morning tv
the news casters look helpless, vunerable like hungry hostages.
I click thru looking for clips of war and disaster to confirm my beliefs.
There's no shortage.

There 's trees everywhere.
I watch the tops, still mostly, but an ocassional sway.
And the water of the harbour like glass.
And in the distance the bridge with traffic going over it.

Its just one of billions of melodramas
scratching at the thick skin of karma

all the kinks tangled up in ribbons

Weighed down with attachments and made mobile by thoughts cracking like static electricity.
Moving through the city, breathing another century,
alert to the the trickery
Its what makes people go downtown that makes life worth ab-libbing,
learning to live with all the kinks tangled up in ribbons

Sitcoms that never get a laugh crawling up the walls,
rotting the structural integrity.
Around dusk Dracula , in street clothes, can be seen in certain neighborhoods.
Some people, paranoid, think its the FBI sucking on democracy.

Some just trying to live within the limits of reality,
hands reaching out for some solidity,
some just have another coffee.

we can have our picnic

here today, gone except for the sorrows and the blossoms
memories in a system similar to rain
the biological and the metaphysical raging ' round the soul
hoping to skip the red tape, and be the life of the party
get a rise out of the ridiculous , like a phoenix out of firing range

Love makes the world go up and down
Lifting the spells of the dragon tamers
God gone awol, down by the creek
either got a lot of nerve or its exhaustion setting in
have to make do with a homebrew simulation until the sunset

see you somewhere in the loop , if the compost doesn't get us first
shake your hips if you live
the zombie -like state stapled to a telephone pole,
time to make an escape


the lightning is fizzing out, we can have our picnic
take a break and and ease out of the catatonic

the markets never close

on Wall street the the numbers ripen and fall
the cunning crew in control
spilling their gusto and assembling shells under which lay luxury and unlimited access
to last laughs
think tanks that sell and collect debt and thwart thought
getting everyone feeling lucky like a gambler drunk in a saloon
the police stand by whispering to ghosts of Al Capone.

The right stuff gutted
Surreal music emerging, giving an imitation of some childhood tune
bright lights when you score , bright lights when you miss
smoke and mirrors showing the best side of the misfits.

ears ringing after the terror
out of body experiences not rare in this neighborhood
trans-mortality lingering on soft tissue
just guessing but secret police recording
feeling sore all over, feeling jubilation too, for a time


down on Wall Street the numbers ripen
the markets never close so they don't need to reopen